


Rabbit Will Run

by Miss_Peg



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Murder, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:12:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Peg/pseuds/Miss_Peg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t take long to hit the bottom and sometimes it’s impossible to come back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabbit Will Run

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for with the monsters for the Paint It Red Stocking Swap Gift Exchange. I’m a little worried that this isn’t quite good enough, but that’s more about my recent writer’s block than anything. This was written with the inspiration of the song Rabbit Will Run by Iron & Wine, thanks to Ellie for introducing it to me.  
> I don't own these characters or the world they're playing in, unfortunately.

'You look like you need a drink.'

Grace Van Pelt lifted her gaze from the bottom of her glass to the man sitting beside her, a smile on his face. She nodded and when a second glass was placed in front of her, she quickly downed the contents. The harsh liquid warmed her throat as it burned its way down. A pain which she'd become accustomed to in recent times. She'd always liked the odd glass of wine, very rarely took to the usual drinks of her officer friends, but sometimes she had a need for spirits that far outweighed her beliefs on getting hideously drunk.

'Not gonna thank me?'

Van Pelt smiled briefly, offering up a few choice words which meant little when brought on by demand. Usually she was ever the grateful one, always thankful for the things she was given by others. Sometimes things change, only she hadn't realised by how much.

'You want some company?'

He obviously hadn’t gotten the hint that she wanted to be alone. Another drink landed in front of her and she thanked him again.

'Keep the drinks flowing,' she muttered.

'Anything, for you,' he whispered, standing behind her with his hands resting on her hips. She took a long, careful breath, remembering the last time a man had touched her in such a way. The feel of his hands on her body was haunted with fingers of the past, hands which would never touch her again, through no fault of her own.

Except it was her fault because she'd killed him.

It didn't matter that Craig O'Laughlin was an accomplice of Red John, it mattered little that he was anything other than her fiancé. What mattered was the fact she had shot several bullets into him before watching him die a slow and painful death.

Nothing would allow her to give up the memory of his eyes, the supposed 'fondness' he talked about appearing more as love when he'd stared at her. Maybe that's why he pulled the necklace from her body before he'd died, because he could barely believe that she could be the reason he was dying. She could believe it little herself.

'You from around here?'

The man's voice floated through the air to her ear, his breath hovering against the skin of her neck as he pressed himself closer to her. Van Pelt lifted a hand to his face, resting it on his cheek as she closed her eyes. The moment could be anything she wanted it to be, if only she let go and relax.

'I know you want me,' he said, the words lingering in the air for a moment, memories of ghosts that had yet to pass on. She'd heard that before, repeated over and over by the one man she thought would protect her for the rest of her life. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling with each and every rapid breath.

She slipped from the bar stool and cupping his hand, headed for the doorway. They kissed in the street, his lips not quite the same shape as those in her memory, but her mind and the alcohol coursing through her veins was enough to forget. His hands travelled over her body in quick progression, finding every inch of bare flesh. The cold tips of his fingers moved under her shirt as he pushed her into a darkened alley behind the bar.

The seediness of the situation barely sunk in as he nibbled carelessly on her earlobe. She clung to the back of his jacket, the situation playing out very differently under the guise of her eyelids. The alcohol had long since sent her body into a different world, where her mind couldn't clear and she preferred to navigate by touch and taste rather than sight.

In the end there was little to say, she'd never done anything like that before and the alcohol was still too present in her system to allow for much sense to be made. She kissed him as he zipped up his pants and cupped her cheeks with the same hands he'd used to cup her breasts.

'I don't even know your name,' she said, breaking their kiss for the briefest of seconds.

'Johnny Redman.'

The name cut like a knife, catching in her throat as she tried to repeat it but couldn't. Van Pelt pushed him aside and stared into the blackness of the night. Her heart thumped harder inside of her chest as she struggled with breath for very different reasons than before.

When his hand pressed down on her should she saw red, the gun resting in her holster was a natural reflex and within moments the man lay on the floor with bullets in his chest. She fell to her knees, tears falling freely as she shook her head in disbelief.

It lasted only seconds until she gathered her senses, returned her gun to her belt and ran off into the night.

Van Pelt’s home was dark when she arrived; she fumbled on the step, struggling to insert her key into the lock as her hands shook. What had happened felt like a dream, one that she would happily wake up from at any given moment.

In the comfort of her home she placed her gun in a box in the back of her wardrobe hidden amongst her memories of Craig that she’d been too afraid to lose. She replaced it with the one she kept in her bedside drawer, a similar model which would easily pass off as her regular choice of weapon.

Then she stripped down to her bare skin, taking a moment to look at herself in the mirror. What had she become? What had Craig’s death made her become? She longed for the simpler days, where her biggest problem was how to navigate the ever increasing possibility of an office romance. The biggest rule she’d ever broken was her illicit affair with Rigsby and now she was facing something so much worse, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking.

The steaming hot water of the shower helped settle her worries as she scrubbed every inch of her skin, hoping to rid herself of the scent of the man’s body.

It wouldn’t be long before someone would find him and then what? Jail? Or maybe worse? The options were frightening. She’d seen what happened to cops in jail.

She curled up in bed with the hope of finding sleep, though knowing before she began what a hopeless task it would be. In the end she lay in the dark, counting the seconds until her eyelids closed and exhaustion took over.

The night was cut short as her phone rang loudly, she opened her eyes and blinked several times in the hope of adjusting quickly to the change in light. She reached for her phone.

‘Van Pelt.’

The words ‘murder’ and ‘behind a bar’ were enough to bring the reality of the night before crashing back into the forefront of Van Pelt’s mind. She listened carefully to Lisbon’s requests.

She drove through the streets of Sacramento, knowing full well that she was probably over the legal limit. The lull of early morning traffic gave her some solitude and allowed her to take her time. When she reached the crime scene, everything would change whether she wanted it to or not. She was faced with a crime where she knew the murderer and as much as she hoped she could pretend it didn’t happen, the SCU were good at closing cases.

The man lay on his back, the bullets in the exact places she’d remembered from the night before. Van Pelt stood on the sidelines, barely listening to the words Lisbon spouted out about the victim. His name was Jonathan Redman, a name that aroused as much curiosity from the rest of the team as it had herself. It wouldn’t be the first time Red John had sent a man to seduce her.

‘You think there’s a connection?’ said Lisbon, glancing down at the other details about the man’s failed life.

‘Meh,’ said Jane. ‘Too obvious, this is merely coincidence. It looks like whoever shot him had shot before, probably a gun owner.’

Van Pelt moved around the body, pretending to do her job of looking for clues, but instead she watched everything that happened. Jane was sure that the man was shot by a lover, the very revelation left her zoning out once more. It was only a matter of time.

‘Van Pelt?’

She looked up to find Lisbon staring at her, her lips pressed together in frustration.

‘Yes, Boss?’

‘Go speak to the owner of the bar, see if he’s got a security tape from last night.’

She hesitated.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘No, no, Boss,’ she mumbled, rushing back towards the street.

Her cheeks felt red hot and her chest like a cage crushing her lungs. When she reached the entrance to the bar, Rigsby held a disc in his hand and relief settled somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

‘Lisbon asked me to take care of the security footage,’ she said, the half-truth left her shaking. She slipped the disc into her jacket pocket and returned to her vehicle.

The footage was everything she feared it would be; herself sitting at the bar, drinking with the victim, leaving with the victim, his hands all over her.

‘Any luck?’

Lisbon’s voice made Van Pelt jump; she closed the lid on the laptop and bit the inside of her lip, anything to stop her worries becoming evident.

‘Nothing, he left alone.’

‘Alright, we’re done here.’

Being back in the office only made things worse; Van Pelt sat at her desk researching the man she’d killed. He had a couple of criminal convictions and had links to a known drug dealer. They were avenues she would happily go down if she didn’t already know the truth. The fact she’d slept with him made the situation all the worse.

‘Grace.’

She turned at the sound of Jane’s voice coming from his couch; he sat up and stared at her curiously. In the mess she’d created something she forgot was the powers of Patrick Jane. He moved to a chair beside her, the gap closing as he leant in.

‘You okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘You don’t look okay,’ he whispered, resting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch which only caused him more concern.

‘I said, I’m fine,’ she snapped, pulling away and turning back to her computer.

‘She says she’s fine,’ he muttered. ‘But she sure don’t look like she’s fine.’

‘You know what, Jane? You’re an idiot.’

‘An idiot?’ he laughed his carefree laugh, the one he chose for occasions such as this. Van Pelt knew how petty it was becoming but the fear of the truth was so much worse.

‘I don’t feel well; tell Lisbon I’m going home.’

She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and marched out of the office. Her stomach was twisted up in knots. The ride down to the parking lot was slow and painful, her stomach threatened to empty itself at any given moment. She ended up relinquishing the contents of her stomach to a plastic bag in the trunk of her car, but the feeling of sickness barely dissipated.

Three days in bed watching General Hospital and pretending to be sick did little to settle Van Pelt’s nerves. Every phone call, every knock at the door, even every car driving past her home was enough to rattle her. Lisbon had inevitably shouted at her for leaving the office without so much as a word. Van Pelt cared little, which surprised her. She’d always craved the attention and support of her boss, the thought of disappointing her was too much. If Lisbon found out what she’d done, she wasn’t sure what good would come of it.

The loss of her job. The loss of her friends. The loss of everything she’d ever held dear.

On returning to work, Van Pelt was relieved to find another case at the forefront of the team’s investigations. She actively sought out as much information as she could about Victor Klein in the hope that avenging his death through the criminal justice system would help her atone for her own crime.

‘Boss.’

Van Pelt raised her head as Cho and Lisbon talked about a friend of the victim, she’d read little about his support network. The man seemed practically a loner, so the information surprised her.

‘Redman’s housemate, Paul Sloan, has been out of town all week, but he’s finally able to talk.’

The name stopped her in her tracks; her fingers hovered over the keyboard as though time had stopped.

‘Any news from the coroner?’

‘There’s evidence of sexual intercourse before his death,’ said Cho.

‘And DNA?’ Lisbon asked.

‘Still waiting on the labs.’

Van Pelt left the room, previous worries returning with a full force in the pit of her stomach. She ran the faucet and filled a glass with water, anything to keep herself occupied and to try and stop the wave of nausea.

‘You still don’t look well.’

Jane. Van Pelt took a deep breath and turned, a smile plastered across her face.

‘I’m fine, much better now.’

‘You’re pale.’

She shrugged. ‘I guess it’s the bug I had.’

‘I guess so.’

She poured herself another glass of water and sipped it casually, cautious of the fact that Jane was staring at her.

‘I think I’ve found out who killed our victim.’

Her body lost all sense of stability; if it wasn’t for the kitchen counter then Van Pelt was sure she’d have tumbled to the floor. ‘Redman?’

‘No, Klein.’

Van Pelt turned back to the sink, closing her eyes with relief until she gained her composure and returned her attention to Jane.

‘So, who did it?’ she asked, still not well up on the details of the recent case. Perhaps the conversation would be some light relief from her woes.

‘His boss.’

‘Really?’

‘What, don’t believe me?’

She shrugged again. ‘I thought his brother was good for it.’

‘Meh, sibling rivalry doesn’t denote murder.’ Jane filled the pot with water and turned it on. ‘Want some tea?’

‘No, thanks, I’m about to go and run a quick errand.’

‘That can wait,’ he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘Sit down, take the weight off your feet. You look like you need a cup of tea and some Jane time.’

‘Jane time?’ she chuckled.

‘Want me to do a psychic reading? I bet you five dollars that I can do a better job than that cousin of yours.’

Van Pelt titled her head to the side and rolled her eyes. She feigned derision despite the real tension floating around beneath the surface. She wanted out and Jane was making it very difficult.

‘You’ve lost quite a few people in your life.’

‘Maybe.’

When they returned to the bullpen, Lisbon was sat at the table drinking coffee and flicking through a pile of papers. Cho sat beside her, a second set of documents in front of him.

‘I’d like to review the footage of the Redman case,’ he said, closing his file.

‘It should be in the case file on my desk.’

He nodded and left the room. Van Pelt lowered herself into her chair, swallowing the lump in her throat. She reached for her jacket.

‘I’ve got an errand to run, I’ll be back soon.’

She’d walked all the way to the elevator when she heard Cho’s voice, an expression of worry evident in the tone.

‘Boss, there’s something you should see. Wait, where did Van Pelt go?’

She pushed the button beside the elevator again, her chest a drum building up to a steady but fast rhythm. Van Pelt tapped her foot, looking between the corridor and the elevator. When it finally opened she was anything but thrilled to see Rigsby coming out, he greeted her and though she tried to respond, she was too shaken up.

Instead of pressing the button for the parking lot, Van Pelt opted for the top floor. She needed some air and space from the rest of the team, she needed, she wasn’t sure what she needed but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The commotion from the office was evident as voices raised and she waited impatiently until the doors opened and she was out in the open air of the rooftop cafe.

‘Van Pelt.’

Jane.

She turned to see him sitting at a table, a cup of tea resting in front of him. How did he get there? She walked across the courtyard to an empty corner away from the coffee drinkers. Any number of them could know what she hoped no one would ever find out, but she knew would eventually cause her downfall.

‘Grace.’

She ignored him once more, his gentle tone enough to settle her fragility, but she couldn’t stand the sympathy. She’d committed a crime and now her life was inevitably over.

‘How long have you known?’ she asked, that look on his face, the one he’d given her since the day Redman’s body was discovered, was the same one she’d seen time and time again. Only, she didn’t want to believe that he was on to her.

‘I suspected it as soon as you turned up at the crime scene.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, turning away from him and glancing out across the city. The first place she’d called home since leaving her family. She longed for the past to retract, for a time machine or a magic wand.

‘Lisbon will be looking for you.’

‘I know, tell her I didn’t mean to, I thought, I thought…’ she stopped, her voice breaking up with the arrival of tears.

‘You thought there was a connection with Red John.’

Mistakes were so easy to make and yet Van Pelt wasn’t sure she could live with the consequences. She’d lost everything in one stupid action. Red John had fooled her once and her fear of it happening again was too apparent. But to commit murder? She didn’t think she would be capable.

‘Grace, come with me, it’ll be okay.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not going to be okay.’

‘It will, I promise.’

She continued to shake her head. She looked him straight in the eye and blew him a kiss as she stepped on to the ledge of the rooftop. It only took a second. One small jump as though on a trampoline, or when she tried to climb out of the dining room window aged seven. But the drop was so much bigger, the consequence so much higher.

There was just no other option.


End file.
